Murderville 2: The Epidemic (18 page)

Liberty opened the box, and then froze. Her face dropped, and she placed the box back on the table, then slid it over to him. It wasn’t exactly the reaction that Po was expecting. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept these. Please never buy me diamonds, Po. Those are blood diamonds.”

Po had forgotten that Liberty wasn’t the average hood chick. She had a complicated past that left her sensitive to a lot of issues, and he kicked himself for not being more considerate. Diamonds were a sign of affluence and luxury where he was from. They were a sign of affection. But to Liberty, they symbolized murder, mutilation, tyranny. The fact that Po had given them to her was a blunt reminder that they came from different worlds.

“I’m sorry,” Po stated.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Liberty said. She reached over and touched the diamond bracelet he wore. “But now you do,” she said.

He slipped the bracelet off of his wrist and held it in his hand, then reached over and kissed the back of her wrist. In a lot of ways she was just like Scarlett, but he was slowly learning that in many others she was very unique, and he loved every part of her. He just wanted to have her as his own.

*    *    *

Rocko and Ayo sat in an old Chevy Caprice while watching Castro’s every move. Since the shooting, Castro had definitely locked things down. Los Familia was now harder to touch than ever before.

“I say we just dead this wetback mu’fucka right now,” Rocko said as he looked on.

“You see that?” Ayo asked, as he pointed to the unmarked police car that sat across the street from where Castro was parked. “This is a ho stroll. There are tricks and johns all down this block, but they not making no arrests,” Ayo said. “They’re here to watch Castro’s back. Whoever he in with down at the police department, it’s a deep connection. We can’t just open fire in broad daylight.”

“So what? We sit out here while he paying for pussy?” Rocko asked.

“Nah, stateside. We sit back and watch
who
he paying for pussy,” Ayo replied.

They watched as Castro approached one of the women on the block. Within seconds he was leading her to his car. Once the sexual transaction was complete, the woman got out and Castro drove away.

“Ain’t you gon’ follow him?” Rocko asked.

“He can go. We know where to find him. That girl is the only person outside of his crew that has been able to get close to him. That’s who we need to talk to.”

Ayo and Rocko sat on the prostitute all day observing her, how she moved, who she spoke to, and who she reported to at the end of the night. To their surprise she hadn’t chosen a pimp: it appeared that the other chicks on the strip had chosen her. At the conclusion of the evening she collected her money from the other ladies, then jumped into a cab.

“Bitch about her paper,” Rocko stated with a laugh as they tailed her.

She got out of the cab, and they followed her as she walked up the stairs to her apartment building. She was clueless to their presence until Rocko stuck a pistol in her side.

“Open the door and don’t scream,” he demanded.

“Fuck my life!” the woman grumbled and turned her key in the door. Rocko pushed her inside immediately, and she turned around with her hands held high. “Look, you fucking assholes, I don’t got no money!”

“Sit down,” Ayo said.

“I done told you muthafuckas that I’m not worth robbing. You don’t look like the type to have to pay for pussy. What the fuck you want?”

“We want Castro, and you’re going to help us get him,” Rocko revealed.

The woman gave an exasperated look and flopped down on a tattered couch. She reached onto the coffee table and
retrieved a cigarette to still her nerves. “Damn, that’s all you want? All you had to do was ask. I don’t give a fuck about that booty-loving muthafucka,” she bitched as she lit her square and inhaled deeply.

Rocko chuckled and looked at Ayo who remained stern.

“What’s your name?” Ayo asked.

“Ms. Trixie, baby!” the woman responded singing slightly. She then used her natural tone of voice and said, “Or Mr., if you prefer. I can be whatever you like.”

Rocko and Ayo were shocked as they both realized that Trixie was a transsexual.

“We’ve got a proposition for you, Trixie,” Ayo said.

“You better be talking good money ’cuz I don’t got time for games,” she responded.

“My man got a personal beef with Los Familia, and we need to touch him,” Ayo explained.

Trixie took a long drag from her cigarette and replied, “Do you know who you’re fucking with? Los Familia isn’t your average gang. They run all of this shit.” Trixie waved her hand from side to side as she spoke, lowering her voice a bit as if she didn’t want to be heard. “If Castro even finds out I’m having this conversation, then that’s my ass.”

Ayo put both hands in front of his body, folding them near his belt as he squared his shoulders. “Let’s just say there is a new sheriff in town. Castro’s reign is over and we’re moving in whether you help us or not. So you can be on the winning team or you can choose to sink with Castro’s ship. Now we’re bringing war to Castro. You can help us do it quietly, or we can spray your entire block
with bullets since it is in Castro’s territory. That type of bloodshed will have your operation dried up for months. Your tricks will be too afraid to drive down your strip by the time we’re done.”

Trixie was silent as she thought about how long it had taken her to establish her track and knew that rebuilding elsewhere would take too much effort.

“We want you to help us set Castro up,” Rocko pushed.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” she said, giving in. “All of Los Familia come through here and trick with me and my girls. I can deliver ’em to you on a silver platter, no problem. The question is . . . what’s in it for Trix?”

“My man got five racks on every member of Los Familia you give us,” Rocko stated.

Trixie let the offer linger in the air as she mulled it over in her mind. That was good money. It would take her an entire month, maybe two, to make five grand. There was no way she was missing out on this lick.

“All I’ve got to do is throw a pussy party,” Trixie said, thinking aloud.

“A pussy what?” Ayo asked. “Be clear, paint the picture for us.”

“I throw pussy parties. Niggas come trick with a group of my girls for the night and do the freaky shit that they can’t get from their proper girlfriends and wives. Every time I throw one, Los Familia comes through, spending big money. I can guarantee that Castro will be there, along with a few of the others, and they will be unarmed. No guns are allowed,” she said confidently.

“Let’s make it happen. The party needs to go down sooner than later, you understand?” Rocko asked.

Trixie nodded and said, “Done.”

*    *    *

Jay-Z’s classic lyrics from
Can I Live
pumped through the dimly lit room, providing the soundtrack for the evening. Trixie had escaped from the clutches of pimps and drug dealers long ago. Now she was the one collecting the money and running an entire strip of working girls on her own. Trixie wasn’t new to the game. The notion of exchanging sex for money was as natural as breathing for her. She had no love for the men she serviced; she was only infatuated with one: Ben Franklin. She was a true professional and although Los Familia had been showing her block love for years she had no loyalty to them. She was married to the money, and the offer to set up Castro was too lucrative to turn down. She made sure she put everything together perfectly and went all out to ensure that the setup went off without a hitch. She spent the last of her hard-earned money to rent out a hotel suite and pay the front desk clerk to make sure the hotel security cameras weren’t functioning that night. The last thing she needed was her face to be connected to whatever Rocko and Ayo had planned. She was spending her last dollar to make her next dollar, and she prayed that it was worth it.

She sat back sipping a glass of cheap cognac as she watched a few members of Los Familia trickle in. The usual suspects were present, but Castro had yet to darken her door. She tapped her long, blood red fingernails against her
glass impatiently. The girls were mingling and getting their paper. Nothing was off limits. Trixie’s dolls were down for whatever: sucking, fucking, anal, fetishes, bondage, threesomes. They fulfilled the wildest of fantasies with expertise, and on a normal night Trixie would be right in on the action, but tonight was different. Tonight she was the ringmaster to the circus that was sure to ensue. She already had her escape mapped out. As soon as shit popped off, she would disappear, then meet with Rocko and Ayo to collect her money.

Trixie was beginning to think that Castro would not show, but then he finally walked into the room. She walked up to him and greeted him personally.

“Hey, daddy, Ms. Trixie got something special for you tonight,” she whispered seductively in his ear, wetting it slightly with her tongue. She put her hand down the front of his Dickie pants and felt his manhood stiffen instantly.
It’s a shame I’m about to put that big dick to sleep,
she thought as she removed her hand and strutted away.

“Can I have your attention, divas and gentlemen!” she shouted.

“Tonight, I have something especially freaky and tantalizing for our guests. If I can have all my working girls up front, and all of our guests seated in the chairs,” she instructed.

Everyone did as they were told, and Castro took a seat front and center, eager to see what sexual escapades Trixie had come up with this time. She was known for putting on a show at her parties, and they always left her guests fully
satisfied. “I have some new girls I’d like to introduce to you, and they’re here just for Los Familia,” she said. “Ladies!”

Seven women stepped up from the back to the front, wearing silky short robes and stiletto heels. Castro’s crew loved Trixie because she had the best trannies in town. They tricked with the he-women often, and they all were paying close attention as they anticipated the freak fest to come. In the blink of an eye the women opened their robes, but the surprise that they had was deadly.

PSST! PSST! PSST!

PSST! PSST! PSST!

The women were actually men, Po’s men, and they opened fire on Castro and his crew. The silenced shots whistled through the air, and Trixie’s girls scattered like roaches trying to make sure that they weren’t caught in the crossfire. Trixie got lost in the crowd as she headed for the nearest exit. Without weapons, the Mexican gang members were like sitting ducks, and the African mafia gunned them down one by one, leaving a river of blood flowing through the room. Trixie hightailed it out of there. While all of the other ladies hit the stairs, Trixie sauntered over to the elevator and tore down the
OUT OF SERVICE
sign that she had posted earlier. She pressed the call button and the doors opened immediately. She stepped inside and smiled in satisfaction as the doors closed behind her.

*    *    *

When Rocko got the call he looked at Po and nodded his head in confirmation.

“How many came?” he asked into the phone.

“Castro and fifteen others,” Trixie replied.

Rocko made arrangements to have the money delivered to her, and then hung up the call. “We owe her 80 racks,” Rocko said with a chuckle in disbelief that she had actually pulled it off.

“Pay her and make sure you express our appreciation for her cooperation and discretion,” Po stated. “Somebody like that is a good ally to have on the team.”

That night Po entered the bedroom he shared with Liberty. It was 3
A.M
., and she was already asleep. He didn’t wake her. Po pulled out the pearl necklace that he had gotten in exchange for the diamonds she had refused. He put it around her sleeping neck and then leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You’re safe now, ma. Good night.”

*    *    *

Omega slammed down the phone, outraged that Po had disregarded his orders. He understood that Po was retaliating and had reacted in haste, but Omega realized what was at stake. They were running an international drug ring, and Omega was testing Po to see if he was ready to get to the real money. Cocaine was a black man’s game. Eventually, if Po proved worthy, Omega planned to introduce him to the diamond trade. Diamonds didn’t discriminate, and Po would be initiated into a different world, but first he had to prove that he could control his temper and check his hustler’s mentality at the door. To lose a load of bricks to Customs was nothing, but to have a shipment of pure diamonds with zero imperfections stopped would be the death of Po. Minor adversaries like Castro would always
pop up. Omega needed Po to learn the art of diplomacy and manipulation before he moved him to the major leagues of international trade. Omega had learned to put his emotions to the side and rely less on his guerilla tactics long ago. His mind was greater than any automatic weapon. When Po learned to outwit the competition he wouldn’t have to exhaust his muscle to keep control.

“Is everything okay, Omega?” Dahlia asked as she entered the room. She wore a long see-through robe and stiletto heels as she stood in his doorway, ready to attend to his every need.

“I’m beginning to wonder if I misjudged Po. Maybe he’s not ready for this,” Omega said more to himself than to her.

“I think that Po just needs a checks and balances system. You don’t have time to oversee his every move, and Ayo works for Po, not beside him,” Dahlia said. “He can’t stop Po from making a mistake beforehand. You need better eyes in the States.”

Dahlia was itching to get to America alone. She loved the independence that Liberty had. Yes, she had gone through hell to get it, but to be with a man like Po who allowed her to move freely and to think freely was worth the years of enslavement . . . or so Dahlia thought. When Po called for Liberty to come back to L.A., Dahlia couldn’t help but wish that she was going too. She and Omega had been many times. In fact, he took her all over the world. But Omega was cut from a different cultural cloth than Po.

Being his woman was like being his child. There were strict rules that needed to be followed and high expecta
tions that Dahlia must meet. Even her opinion wasn’t highly respected. In order to get her way, Dahlia had to plant a seed inside of Omega, and then nurture it until it bloomed into an idea that Omega thought was his own manifestation. It took a lot of work to be in her shoes, whereas Liberty’s spot was carefree. Her only requirements were love, looks, and loyalty. As long as she held those three down, then Po was satisfied. The dance that Dahlia did with Omega was much more difficult. The submission he demanded was suffocating. To outsiders, her life appeared so grand. She walked around with her head held high and flaunting her status to mask her true feelings. In actuality, she was like a caged bird, dying for her owner to mistakenly leave the door open one day so that she could fly free.